Page 14

Another week has passed in this endless sea of grass, and the steppe continues to test our resolve. Our progress remains slow, the days monotonous and exhausting. The nights are no respite, for the temperature plummets once the sun dips below the horizon. My men huddle together for warmth, their spirits dampened by the harsh conditions. We cannot spare the wood to burn.

Rufinus and his Gryphon Guard have proven essential, their aerial advantage providing us with information we could not otherwise obtain. They scout the land and report back on the movements of the Sithians, who, like shadows, are elusive and ever-changing.

Yesterday, my cavalry encountered a small band of Sithian warriors. The battle left us weary and battered, but we emerged victorious. My heart swells with pride for my men, for they have shown their mettle in the face of an unfamiliar enemy.

However, I must address the brutality of the Gryphon Guard. Their wrath upon the Sithians was merciless, their actions striking fear in both the enemy and my own soldiers. I have spoken with Rufinus, urging him to temper the fury of his warriors, lest we lose our own humanity in this vast, untamed land.

A s the days bled into weeks, Jai found himself growing accustomed to the rhythm of life among the Sithians. The spring sun would rise over the seemingly endless grasslands, setting the world ablaze with gold and crimson – a far cry from the pale blue dawns of the Sabine winter he had so recently endured.

Each morning Jai would practise his sithosi with Feng, stumbling over unfamiliar words, grappling with the nuances of the language. He even began speaking to the children, whose fear of him had been replaced by fascination as Winter gambolled among them each morning. She’d taken a liking to them, though Jai could not tell if it was their innocent joy, or the jerky they fed her that drew her the most.

His progress with sithosi was slower than he’d have liked, but with Feng’s patient guidance, his people’s songs began to form more fluidly upon his tongue. Now he joined in the marching chorus with gusto, such that they lingered in his mind as he slept each night.

He’d been so busy with his lessons, and so tired from each day’s march, that the diary had lain forgotten at the bottom of his bag since he’d read the last entry. And though he knew he should read further, he made excuses to himself, for with each page, he learned more about the cruel man Rufus had once been.

It was easy to find the excuses, for during the day, the wildlife of the Great Steppe could be glimpsed from Navi’s back. Ground sloths, enormous, bear-sized herbivores, could be spotted on the horizon, before disappearing into their giant burrows as they neared.

Impala dove like dolphins nearby them, springing high above the grass to watch for predators, before angling away to leave them in the dust. Their ten-foot leaps allowed them to move unimpeded by the thick brush. These, Feng told him, were rarely hunted, as they could outrun even a rider upon khiro-back.

While the khiroi relied on the protection of their herd, the impala avoided the sabretooths and direwolves that hunted the steppe, speeding away in great curving leaps at the new signs of danger. The Sithia watched the impala to see where predators lurked, more than anything.

Surprisingly, Jai was yet to see more than a sling for hunting among the Valor, and these were more intended for the larks and grouse that sometimes burst up from the grass as they roamed. Truly, did the Sithians rely on their khiroi above all other animals, their milk and occasional meat replacing their need to hunt.

With new understanding came new discoveries, and Jai learned the intricacies of the Valor society, noting the significance of the braids they wore in their hair. Each braid bore a different meaning, some marking the wearer as married, others signifying a warrior’s first kill in battle, or his rank among the warriors. Even the smallest details held meaning, the placement of the beads threaded through the braids revealing almost as much as the braids themselves.

So too did he begin to take a liking to their cuisine. The tribe ground gathered grains into hearty flatbreads and dumplings, and the aroma of tubers cooked in a rich medley of spices and khiroi creams and cheeses would often set his mouth watering each evening. Even Winter didn’t turn her nose up from it, as she typically did without meat on the menu.

Jai could feel his body filling out as he indulged in these hearty meals, his once scrawny frame slowly giving way to a layer of healthy fat and the promise of new muscle. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a burnished plate, a wave of relief washing over him as he took in the changes. No longer was he the emaciated wanderer who had arrived at Porticus, but a stronger, more robust version of himself, a consequence of the sithosi fare and the rigours of his training. Not to mention the beginnings of a scruffy beard.

As for making friends, well, it was still only the children who spoke to him, outside of Kiran and Feng. Sindri had not even glanced his way for days, and Zayn maintained his distance almost to a fault. He and Jai shared little more than cursory glances, a silent acknowledgement of the gulf that lay between them. In the dim hours of the night, Jai would often see Zayn ride off with Kiran, their silhouettes swallowed by the vast expanse of the steppe. He could only guess they were practising the spell he had taught them, for Kiran had been sure to get a proper accounting of the spell from Jai, on Zayn’s behalf. He realised that Zayn’s pride prevented him from seeking Jai’s guidance in front of his entourage, unwilling to admit that Jai’s skills surpassed his own.

It mattered little to Jai, for he had his own work to do. With Winter by his side, Jai was finally able to soulbreathe to his fullest, and it was some relief when he finally filled his core with mana. There was safety in that. How many days had he passed in Porticus, with little more than a few dregs to keep him alive? He would never let that happen again.

It was a shame, then, that he knew little of how to advance along the soulbound path once he had ascended, so instead he practised his spells alone within the relative privacy of his ragged tent.

Each night, he would summon a flame, holding the ball of oscillating fire, letting it hang in the air like a miniature sun. It was far harder to control its direction, and its shape, than simply blast a gout of flame as he had done before. So he practised in the hope that, in battle, he might have the chance to throw a fireball, as he had seen Beverlai do during their fight to the death.

Jai’s training in Talvir continued under Kiran’s watchful eye, and with each passing day, he grew better at balancing his new-found strength with the grace of a martial warrior. Their sparring sessions were punctuated by Kiran’s laughter, her eyes alight with amusement as Jai fumbled through the intricate dance of hand-to-hand combat. Despite his initial reluctance, Jai found himself enjoying these lessons, the thrill of feeling himself get better, and Kiran’s grudging praise was more than enough to keep him motivated.

During this morning’s training, Jai had let out a whoop as he finally managed to heave Kiran out of the circle. While his triumph owed more to his superior ascended strength than outclassing her, it was a triumph nonetheless.

Now, some hours later, Kiran trotted beside him during the morning march, and took his reins, leading him wordlessly ahead of the tribe, as Zayn had done before.

‘Where are we going?’ Jai asked, smiling as Winter raced alongside, then fell back to trail just behind them, treading the easier path in the khiroi’s wake.

Kiran put a finger to her lips, sitting tall in her saddle as she scanned for threats.

Today, Feng had chosen to walk, for the saddle they shared was not designed for two, and he was beginning to chafe. So it was just Jai and Kiran, riding out into the wilderness.

Kiran only stopped when they were out of sight of the others, and now she dismounted, after standing on her khiro’s back, and giving one last look to the horizon. She motioned for Jai to do the same, and he did.

Only then did Kiran reach into her saddlebags, and pull forth two bamboo practice swords strapped to their side. They were as long as falxes, and had been hardened and curved over a fire.

‘Come,’ Kiran said finally. ‘Let us begin.’

‘What, no fighting circle?’ Jai asked, flattening the grass around him with his foot.

‘Is there a circle when you fall from your khiro?’ Kiran asked. ‘Or anywhere else in the Great Steppe?’

Jai grimaced at the rebuke, but took the blade, raising his eyebrows at the weight of it.

‘Soil inside,’ Kiran said, catching Jai’s expression.

Of course. It was pointless practising with something so much lighter than a true falx. He raised the sword, glad of the rough hilt of wrapped cord at the bottom, giving him a strong grip.

He didn’t have a lot of time to admire the weapon because Kiran didn’t hesitate, her bamboo sword whipping towards Jai’s shoulder. He deflected the blow at the last moment, the crack loud in his ears.

She pressed forward, slashing and stabbing, pushing Jai back. He stumbled through the swaying grass, tripping on the tussocks and strands that tangled his legs. Kiran’s feet remained firmly planted, while Jai constantly struggled to find his footing on the shifting earth.

As they traded blows, Jai remembered the technique Rufus had taught him. Keen to impress, Jai met her next blow, their swords locking together. Jai heaved his head back, and then lunged, slamming his forehead into her nose. The impact sent blood spraying, and Jai felt instant regret.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’ he stammered, dropping his sword.

Kiran’s response was swift, tackling him to the ground. They grappled among the tall grass, Jai’s apologies forgotten as they wrestled, Kiran’s eyes burning with defiance, even when blood stained her lips and chin, turning her smile feral.

Laughter bubbled up between their gasping breaths, the thrill of the struggle turning to comedy. Finally, they stilled, breathing deep, neither willing to surrender. It was only when Winter nosed between them to join the fun that Kiran finally released him, falling back with a moan of relief.

For a moment, they lay there, staring into the expanse above, catching their breaths.

‘You have some training,’ Kiran said, breaking the silence. ‘To force a battle of strength. We call it the Locked Horns.’

‘Yeah,’ Jai allowed. ‘Had to do something. I’m not used to such a long blade.’

Kiran smirked, a mischievous glint in her eye as she turned to look at him.

‘You know what they say – it’s not the length that matters, but how you wield it,’ she chuckled. ‘Or perhaps you’re just not used to handling something so impressive.’

Jai burst into laughter, grateful for the flush of exertion that he hoped hid the sudden warmth in his cheeks.

Here, away from the village, it was as if she were a different person. Lighter somehow. Freer. She groaned and got back to her feet, but not before wiping her nose with a torn handful of grass.

‘Again,’ she said.

Jai nodded and rose to his feet, grasping the bamboo sword with trepidation. Kiran took a moment to size him up, then crouched back into her fighting stance.

‘Your grip is too tight,’ she said, rapping his knuckles with her sword.

Jai adjusted his grip accordingly, and Kiran circled around him, studying his posture.

‘Keep your feet shoulder width apart, and your knees bent,’ she snapped.

As Jai shifted his stance, Kiran tutted and knocked the blade at his feet, until he had the correct position.

‘Hold the sword up and out, like this. It is the best starting position.’

Jai mimicked her posture, feeling the difference as he adjusted the angle of his weapon. They began to spar again, though more slowly, Kiran narrating his progress.

‘Good, but relax your arm. A tense arm is stiff, slow, easy to predict,’ she said, slapping down his swing with ease, leaving the tip of his blade in the dirt.

‘Now, defend.’

She demonstrated a swift, fluid sweep, aimed at Jai’s legs. The move forced him to dance away, and he cursed as he stumbled for what felt like the hundredth time that day, receiving a grazed knee for his troubles.

Jai observed her movements as the minutes passed, trying to memorise the pattern of her swings. Soon enough, he attempted the technique himself in return, his first try a bit clumsy and slow. Kiran easily avoided it, and seemed none the worse. She shook her head, stepping closer to guide him through the motion.

‘In Talvir, we call this the Serpent’s Dance. Seize the moment that your opponent’s weight shifts – strike high, then sweep low when their focus is above. That’s when they’re most vulnerable.’

She demonstrated a series of quick, fluid motions, her sword seeming to slither as the eponymous serpent as she weaved a figure S in the air.

‘You will learn, the secret to a good defence is in the footwork,’ she said, her eyes meeting Jai’s. ‘You are flat-footed. Try again, keep the balance on the balls of your feet.’

Jai let out a frustrated breath, slashing low and fast. It was like stabbing at smoke, her legs swift as a dancer’s, her balance poised. After a few more tries, she whipped up her blade, catching Jai under the chin.

‘Now, you try.’

Jai dragged himself back from the dirt, rubbing his face. This time, he managed a good ten seconds of avoiding her attacks before he was flat on his back, nursing a bruised scalp for his trouble.

He cursed, but Kiran did not press her advantage, instead looking at him with what might have been approval.

‘Better than most,’ she sniffed.

Jai groaned. There was something hard in the small of his back. He rolled over and picked it up. It was a rusted bowl, buried so deep in the grass, he had not seen it.

Kiran snatched it from his hand, examining it. Her face darkened.

‘You’re in luck, Jai,’ she said, sniffing the bowl where a slim crust of food remained. ‘No more than a few weeks old.’

She turned the bowl over to show the stamp embossed upon the bottom. A male khiro, perhaps even an Alkhara, complete with its enormous horn. The symbol of his people. The Kidara.